


The game of murder

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 11:06:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17222852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: The newsies play "Killer".





	The game of murder

It was rare for the weather to get bad enough to prevent the newsies from going out selling. Rare, but not unheard of. It was true that they hawked their papers through scorching heat, freezing rain, sleet and slush and blizzards of every description, but when Kloppman stomped in that morning and hollered at them all to go back to sleep, because the snow outside was deeper than little Tumbler was tall, there wasn’t a lot to be done.

“I won’t have the lot of you raising hell,” Kloppman warned. He had, after all, some familiarity with boys and their temperaments, and knew full well what sort of mischief several dozen of them could get into on a rare day spent cooped up inside.

It was Skittery who suggested a game of “killer”.

“It’s been a while since I played it,” he explained. “And I can’t say I had me wits about me last time I did, but I think it goes something like this: First we steal some paper from Kloppman’s desk.”

“Sounds fun!” Snipeshooter said.

“Want me to get his log book while we'se at it?” Swifty added. “Some of you deadbeats has outstanding debts, and it don’t take much more than an eraser to amend that.”

“Don’t worry about the debts,” said Skittery. “Or worry about 'em if you want, but first worry about the rules of the game.”

“How’re we going to kill someone with paper?” Tumbler asked.

“Maybe some of us has morals,” Snitch said, “and don’t wanna play your dumb killing game.”

“There’s no real killing in it, is there?” Mush asked, with an expression that was somewhere between worried and hopeful. “Hey Skits, tell everyone how there’s no actual killing in your game, huh?”

“So what we does,” Skittery tried to explain, “is make little cards, and hand 'em out.”

“I’ll make a card for Snipeshooter,” Boots offered. “It’ll say 'Merry Not-Christmas, do you realize that you are very very short and cigars stunt your growth?’”

That got a laugh from Jack. “Hate to break it to you Boots, but you ain’t all that tall yourself.”

“At least I’m making an effort to be! We should all make an effort to be as tall as we can.”

Skittery cleared his throat.

“Good luck,” said Racetrack. “Ten cents says you’ll be a card carrying member of the pipsqueek club for all your mortal days.”

Skittery cleared his throat louder.

“You’ll be in good company,” Jack added, with a glance from Boots to Racetrack. “Hey Skittery,” he said. “Now’s your chance. If you wanna tell us all the secret to growing freakishly tall, you got a captive audience.”

“I want,” said Skittery, “to finish telling you how to play the game.”

“The killing game!” Dutchy added cheerfully.

“No, it’s called killer,” said Skittery. “And no one actually gets killed. I give you little ca– slips of paper is all, and they all says who you is. Like maybe you'se the killer, or maybe you'se the chief of police, or…”.

“I’ll be the chief of police!” Specs offered. “Guess what? You'se all arrested for vagrancy and loitering. That’ll be a three cent fine per person.”

“No!” said Skittery. “The object of the game is to find out who the killer is. See, you don’t tell no one and…”

“It’s me,” Blink announced. “I killed Specs for unfairly arresting us.”

“I don’t blame you for murdering him.” Dutchy’s sage tone of voice threaten to break with laughter any minute, especially when Specs shoved him playfully.

“Me neither,” said Specs. “But just so y'know, I intend to haunt you until your dying day.”

“That was a fun game,” said Tumbler. “Let’s play again, only this time I’m the chief of police, and you can’t kill me, 'cause I live at the top of a volcano and nobody can catch me there.”

Skittery sighed, and put his head in his hands, but he couldn’t help laughing as well. “I’ll be the volcano,” Skittery offered, pulling Tumbler up onto his shoulders, where he could tower over everybody.

If the game got loud and rowdy from here on out, Skittery figured, it wasn’t his fault.


End file.
